The air in the Midnight Accord tasted like iron and old magic.
I stood just inside the grand arch of the Council Hall, my boots silent on the black marble, my breath steady. The vaulted ceiling arched high above, carved with runes that pulsed faintly in time with the ley lines beneath Vienna. Chandeliers of frozen moonlight hung like constellations, casting long shadows across the twelve thrones of the Supernatural Council. I was supposed to feel awe. Instead, I felt hunger.
Revenge.
It lived in my bones, in the quiet hum of the Mark of the Eclipse hidden beneath my collar. No one knew it was there. Not the werewolf Alphas with their golden eyes tracking my every step. Not the Fae nobles draped in illusion and lies. Not even Mira, my handmaiden, who waited somewhere beyond the gates with a forged identity and a knife sewn into her sleeve.
But *he* would know.
My gaze cut through the murmuring crowd, past the velvet drapes and gilded sigils, until I found him.
Kaelen D’Vire.
He stood in the shadows at the far end of the hall, a silhouette against the stained-glass eclipse that loomed behind the vampire throne. His cloak, deep black with a crimson lining, fanned out like spilled blood across the floor. One hand rested on the pommel of a dagger at his hip—ancient, silver, etched with the D’Vire crest. The other was curled at his side, long fingers still, controlled.
He hadn’t moved since I entered.
But I felt him. Like a current beneath the skin. Like a storm gathering in the hollow of my throat.
Three hundred and twelve years old. High Sovereign of the Nocturne Dominion. The man who had stood beside my mother the night she died—then let her fall.
I tightened my grip on the satchel at my side. Inside, false papers, a vial of truth serum, and the only photo I had of her—smiling, her hand on my infant head, the Black Sigil glowing at her throat.
I wasn’t here to negotiate.
I was here to destroy him.
“Indigo Vale,” a voice echoed, sharp as a blade. “Representative of the Northern Witches’ Conclave.”
I stepped forward. My heels clicked once, then silenced as the marble absorbed the sound. The Council chamber stilled. Twelve pairs of eyes locked onto me—vampire, werewolf, fae, witch. All watching. All judging.
I kept my face neutral. My posture open. My magic banked low, like embers beneath ash.
“You are late,” said Lord Cassian, the eldest vampire on the Council. His voice was oil on stone. “The Binding Ceremony begins at moonrise.”
“And so it has,” I said, glancing at the skylight. The moon hung full and silver, its light fractured by the glass eclipse. “I’m precisely on time.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Cassian’s lip curled. He was old, ancient—older even than Kaelen—but where Kaelen was power restrained, Cassian was hunger barely leashed. His eyes lingered on my throat, as if he could already smell the half-blood beneath my skin.
“The terms are clear,” he said. “To prevent war between the Dominion and the Eclipse remnants, a bond must be forged. One touch. One fate.”
My stomach dropped.
Bonding ritual.
I hadn’t known it would happen tonight.
“The representatives must join hands,” Cassian continued, “and swear the Oath of Accord. Their magic will seal the pact. The Council will bear witness.”
My pulse spiked. This wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to be bound to anyone—especially not *him*. I was supposed to gather evidence, expose his lies, reclaim the Sigil, and vanish before dawn.
But the ritual was already unfolding.
The floor split down the center. A narrow strip of obsidian rose, etched with ancient runes. At each end, a pedestal. On one, a dagger. On the other, a chalice filled with dark liquid—blood, I realized. Not human. Not vampire. Something older.
And then Kaelen moved.
He stepped into the light, and the room exhaled.
He was taller than I remembered from the archives—taller, broader, more dangerous. His hair, black as a starless sky, fell just past his jaw. His face was carved from ice and shadow: sharp cheekbones, a blade-straight nose, lips that looked made for commands, not kisses. But his eyes—
They were obsidian. Depthless. Cold.
And yet, when they landed on me, something flickered.
Recognition?
Or warning?
He didn’t speak. Didn’t bow. Just walked to the pedestal opposite mine and placed one hand on the rune-carved stone.
Cassian raised his voice. “By the blood of the ancients, by the will of the Council, we bind these two in service of peace. Let their touch seal the fate of nations. Let their bond stand as proof of unity.”
My mouth went dry.
“No,” I whispered.
But the chamber was chanting now, voices rising in ancient tongues. The runes on the floor flared crimson. The air thickened, pressing against my skin like a living thing.
“Indigo Vale,” Cassian said, “place your hand upon the stone.”
I didn’t move.
“Do it,” a new voice said—low, smooth, lethal. Kaelen’s.
“Or I’ll come and make you.”
The threat rolled over me, dark and heavy. But I wasn’t some trembling acolyte. I was the last of the Eclipse. I had survived exile, betrayal, silence. I would not be cowed by a vampire king in a velvet coat.
Slowly, I stepped forward.
I placed my hand on the stone.
The moment my skin touched the obsidian, the world *burned*.
Fire ripped up my arm, searing through muscle, bone, soul. I gasped, staggering, but the stone held me like a vice. Across from me, Kaelen flinched—just once—but his hand didn’t move.
Then our palms met.
His skin was cold. So cold it burned. But beneath it—heat. A pulse. A rhythm that matched my own.
And then—
Magic exploded.
A shockwave tore through the chamber, shattering the chandeliers. Glass rained down like stars. The Council members rose, some shielding their faces, others hissing in shock. The runes on the floor blazed gold, then indigo, then black.
And in the center of it all—us.
Our hands fused, not by force, but by something deeper. Something *alive*.
I felt it—his mind brushing against mine. A flash of memory: my mother, alive, laughing, her hand in his as they stood before the Eclipse altar. Then—blood. A knife. A scream.
“No,” I choked, trying to pull away.
But the bond held.
His other hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “Don’t fight it,” he growled. “You’ll rupture the magic. We’ll both die.”
“I’d rather die than be bound to you,” I spat.
His eyes locked onto mine. And then—gold.
Molten, blazing, *alive*.
“You think I wanted this?” he whispered, so low only I could hear. “You think I asked for *you*?”
“You killed her,” I hissed. “I saw you there. I saw you *let her fall*.”
“I tried to *save* her,” he said, voice cracking. “And if you don’t stop fighting this bond, you’ll die too. Just like she did.”
The words hit like a knife.
And then—silence.
The magic settled. The runes dimmed. The chamber was still, broken glass glittering like frost under moonlight.
But between us—fire.
My skin burned where he touched me. My breath came fast. My heart pounded—not from fear. From something worse.
*Want.*
His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, just once. A flicker. A test.
And my body *answered*.
Heat pooled low in my belly. My nipples tightened beneath my blouse. The Mark of the Eclipse—hidden, dormant—throbbed beneath my collar, as if waking.
Kaelen’s nostrils flared. He smelled it. My arousal. My magic. My *fear*.
“You feel it,” he murmured. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I feel nothing but disgust,” I lied.
He smirked. Slow. Dangerous. “Liar.”
And then he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “You came here to kill me. But fate has other plans.”
His breath was cold. His voice, a velvet threat.
And I—
I should have pulled away.
I should have screamed.
But for one traitorous second—
I *wanted* him to kiss me.
The Council erupted in noise—voices, arguments, demands for explanation. Cassian’s eyes burned with fury. The werewolf Alpha growled. The Summer Fae diplomat clapped, delighted.
But I didn’t hear them.
All I heard was the thunder of my own pulse. All I felt was the ghost of his lips on my skin. All I knew was this:
I had come to bury Kaelen D’Vire.
But the bond didn’t care about vengeance.
It only knew one truth—
We were bound.
And now, whether I wanted it or not—
I was his.